Friction Burns
by Goomby
Summary: Kellerman is shirtless and sitting on the bed in a dingy little motel outside Albuquerque when his phone rings. A conversation, Kellerman and Mahone in 2x13. Oneshot, spoilers to The Killing Box.


Disclaimer: I do not own Prison Break and I am making no profit from this.

Note: This isn't my first fanfic, but it is my first attempt at Prison Break. After a few false starts, this is what I came up with. More than the actual idea, I'd be interested – if you decide to review – to hear what you thought about my characterisation, and how I can improve it.

Spoilers for everything up to and including 2x13 set in that ep just before Kellerman turns on the Company and hooks up with Michael and Lincoln. Use of minor bad language.

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**Friction Burns**

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Kellerman is shirtless and sitting on the bed in a dingy little motel outside Albuquerque when his phone rings. The sudden noise makes his hand slip in its work – applying ointment to the sore, livid burn on his chest – and he curses through clenched teeth. Angrily wiping his hand on the bed sheet, he scoops up his phone, flips it open, and snaps a "Yeah?" into the speaker.

"No need to sound so tense, Paul, we're supposed to be friends now, remember?" Alex Mahone's voice drifts across the connection.

"Business colleagues, not friends, Alex. You know that." Kellerman presses the phone into the shoulder and starts to tidy up. His burn is stinging.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Getting all sentimental over here."

Kellerman grimaces. He doesn't like Mahone – far from it – but at least the man's good for a bit of banter.

"So, whatcha calling about, Alex?"

"Tomorrow. I need to know the plan. Where, when, how –"

Kellerman cuts him off. He can hear the rising note in the man's voice, the note that means Mahone feels he is out of control, means he is going to start drilling for information. Kellerman hates that about him. "You'll know everything you need to know tomorrow. Is that all?"

"I need to know now." Yeah, that's the stress starting up. Kellerman can hear it. He imagines Mahone, leaning against a wall, phone pressed to his ear, the heel of his hand against his forehead. The man is far too jittery for his liking, and Kellerman's been around enough addicts to guess that Mahone has his own vices.

"You'll know everything you need to know tomorrow," Kellerman repeats.

"I don't think you understand me, Paul –"

"No, I don't think you understand me. I'm saving your ass here, Alex. You're not really in any position to be starting to act like you are even remotely in control of this situation."

The line crackles, and Mahone is laughing. Quietly, in that dry, humourless way of his, but it makes Kellerman glance at the phone and frown slightly.

"Something amusing?"

"Oh, I was just thinking, y'know, that it's kinda funny I'm standing here getting lectured on the art of controlling a situation by –" he hears Mahone shift, hears something rustle and click –"by a secret service guy with fifteen years under his belt who just let a little girl doctor get the best of him."

Kellerman stands up, and his face is drawn. "Didn't know you were invited to Bill Kim's story hour now, Alex."

"I'm not. But some things you don't need security clearance to hear about. Some things are just so –" Mahone chuckles again –"so ridiculous, that I guess just about everyone hears about it one way or another."

Kellerman closes his eyes. Mahone is right – it is ridiculous. He's been doing this fifteen years – fifteen goddamn years, and he's just been bested by a skinny girl he made the fatal mistake of going soft on. He can feel shame working its way up his neck, and the burn on his chest blazes more than ever.

Mahone is still talking. "Seriously though, Paul, how'd she do it? Did she wrestle you to the ground?" The jibe is obvious, and Kellerman grits his teeth.

"A little more than wrestling."

"She hurt you?" This time, the question is half joke, half incredulity. Kellerman's been pacing without realising it, and now he has the bad fortune to stop and open his eyes right opposite the waist high mirror over the dresser.

The scar on his chest is decked out like a damn Christmas tree. The edges are red and raw and swollen and some of the flesh that should have been taken away is still clinging there, deteriorating. They'd wanted to keep him in the hospital. He hadn't let them. He'd charged his way out to get back to work, only to find he didn't have any work to get back to at all.

And the shape would be funny if it didn't hurt so goddamn much.

"Paul?"

Kellerman realises he hasn't answered Mahone.

"Sara Tancredi actually hurt you? An ex-junkie lovesick doctor?" There's a laugh in every syllable, and Kellerman wants to wring the man's neck.

He clenches a fist, turns from left to right. He takes a breath and relaxes, and answers with his usual ghost of a half-smile on his face. "Well, I guess we all make our mistakes, huh? Mine was not pulling a gun on someone, and yours – well, yours was just the opposite, right, Alex?" He clicks his tongue, shakes his head. "Just such a shame, don't you think? That Oscar Shales didn't have as much luck as Sara Tancredi in dodging fate. Then you wouldn't have to be here now, having this conversation about which one of us screwed up worse."

The line goes quiet. Kellerman smiles to himself, anticipating a win. Mahone will snap something, remind him about being prompt with the arrangements, and hang up. Then he can go back to enjoying his last evening not on the run.

Mahone's snapped response doesn't come.

"Y'know what, Paul?" The man's voice is quivering, with the same kind of rage the Company's trump card always provokes, but it's different. "My _mistake_ was taking out one of the bad guys. One of the men who do not even _deserve_ to be on the face of this earth. What you did? You tried to kill an innocent woman, Paul. Jeez, you know, I'm actually glad she gave you the slip."

Kellerman has his eyes closed again. He's fighting to stay calm. "Better be careful what you say, Alex, don't know who could be listening."

"Yeah, whatever, Kellerman. Call me tomorrow with those arrangements. Hope whatever she did to you hurts like hell."

And the line goes dead. As soon as Kellerman realises Mahone has hung up on him, he snaps the phone shut and throws it onto the bed. Then he drops next to it, staring up at the ceiling.

He's gotta calm down. Tomorrow, on the phone, getting ready, pulling it off, he's gotta be calm and he's gotta be convincing. He can't let Mahone think he's going to let some grudge between them sway him, make him mess this up. No, it's got to come as a complete surprise when he shoots that bastard and leads the brothers straight to Caroline's doorstep. He's never going to get his job back. He's out now, and by God if he's out he's going to go whole hog.

A small part of him is starting to relish the thought more, though. He curls and uncurls his fingers, remembering the familiar feel of cool metal in his hands.

His chest is still killing him. He'd rather sleep now, and finish up in the morning, but he can't. The wound weeps and if he just falls asleep here, he'll wake up with the sheets glued to him and it's going to hurt like blue murder to pull them off. So he climbs up, rummages for fresh bandages, and starts to wind them round himself.

He thinks _Sara Tancredi sure left her mark on me_, grins at the double meaning, and grimaces at the terrible pun. Though, honestly, he's kinda glad she gave him the slip too.

Before long the bandages are done. Nothing left to do now but sleep, and wait for dawn.


End file.
